Clementine showed to no one her disappointment, and she probably soon recovered from it. Her life was full of many other pleasant plans and hopes, and she could well afford to let a selfish lover pass out of it. She remained with her friend until after the marriage between her and John Selden had been consummated; and then Cleve saw her name among the list of passengers sailing on one particular day for Europe. As John and his bride left on the same steamer Cleve supposed, of course, she had gone in their company.
"Nice thing it would have been for Cleve Sullivan to marry John Selden's wife's maid, or something or other? John always was a lucky fellow. Some fellows are always unlucky in love affairs—I always am."
Half a year afterward he reiterated this statement with a great deal of unnecessary emphasis. He was just buttoning his gloves preparatory to starting for his afternoon drive, when an old acquaintance hailed him.
"Oh, it's that fool Belmar," he muttered; "I shall have to offer him a ride. I thought he was in Paris. Hello, Belmar, when did you get back? Have a ride?"
"No, thank you. I have promised my wife to ride with her this afternoon."
"Your wife! When were you married?"
"Last month, in Paris."
"And the happy lady was—"
"Why, I thought you knew; everyone is talking about my good fortune. Mrs. Belmar is old Paul Marat's only child."
"What?"